


Gathering of Darknesses

by taichara



Category: Transformers (Dreamwave Generation One), Transformers (IDW), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Prime, Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Ficlet Collection, Gen, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 18:09:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 2,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1021795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taichara/pseuds/taichara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of fifteen Transformers ficlets written for the Spooky Speedwriting Spam Weekend on tf_speedwriting @ Livejournal.  Halloween prompts yay!  Except these took rather a dark turn, oops.  </p>
<p>Most of these are for an unspecified "G1", with a few IDW-based ficlets, one stray for Dreamwave and for Aligned/Prime, and a few Shattered Glass callouts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Totentanz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IDW; Drift; prompt "waking to a nightmare"

There was almost a sickly-sweet pleasure to it all, a soft thrumming whisper more felt than heard that glided across the ruddy, darkened haze that filled his mind and washed away all pain …

… It was better this way.

If there was no pain, there was no doubt; if there was no doubt, he needed not a moment’s hesitation as he whirled and sidestepped, blades scored black with dying spark-flames, soaked streaked and dripping with the dregs of a score of severed conduits, a horde of shattered fuel pumps. 

It was a dance, almost. Almost something beautiful.

There was no pain; there was no doubt; there was no thought. Only the soft sweetness that flowed from the bright shattered crack in his mind and called the haze to him again.

And then the light flared once, and died, and the world rushed back in –

In a sea of corpses, Drift sank, stained sprayed and shaking, to his knees.

The blades fell limply in a hollow clatter; all around him lay the dead, dead by his hands. His own seeping wound, slickness tinting pinkly eyes bleached white with shock, meant nothing –

_what have I done_


	2. Lamprey's Surfeit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aligned; Mirage, Hound (memory); prompt "unnatural thirst"

The last Vehicon – the last drone, poor witless things – had barely begun to crumple towards the battered deckplates before Mirage, like the wraith he was named for, moved to ghost with silent steps to meet his victim once again.

It had been hard, once; was still hard, if he allowed himself the luxury to pause, to remember

_* ‘Not your fault you’re designed with finicky insides, Mirage ~’ *_

_* This’s something I want to do. We’re going to get out of this together and I need you to do this to help yourself. For me, then –‘ *_

Hound knew the way. He always knew the way, whether plucking out the faint trail of their lost ones across the stars or the simplest path to dealing with Mirage’s highly, too highly, refined internals in the face of desperation and lack.

… But Hound was gone. He was gone, and Mirage had nothing but the shadow of a scream, the tang of scorched plating, to try to search by, and he was undone.

Undone, until he had steeled himself to hunt the hunters.

It was only fair to steal from their wasted lives everything that they had taken from their own victims …

One more gliding step, another, a wraith in colourless blue, slim as ribbons; now he stood over the crumpled drones as the last life flickered and died in what passed for their eyes. 

The slim barrels of his rifles retracted into their sheathing, unseen within his forearms, and in their place slid a single razor sharp as spite. Sinking gracefully to his heels, Mirage traced out fuel conduits and made his choice.

Hound would want it to be so.


	3. Palimpsest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> G1, Shattered Glass; Optimus Prime; prompt "reflection"

A crack in time, some bleed between the worlds;  
A split in his mind, some leaching of sense and sanity;  
Whatever the truth of it, it could not change the horror of what he saw

_an existence turned upside down_

_a world burnt black and empty_

_himself, violet as some organic bruise, bone-deep,_  
enthroned above hell itself  
as he called for death and laughed and laughed 

It must not be. It could not be – unless it were some warning, some premonition –  
Prime drew the shining brightness of the Matrix from within, saw his own self reflected in the glittering orb, and knew the end for what it was.

It was time.


	4. Cover Thee In Mourning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> G1; Sideswipe; prompt "ritual"

It always began the same; the world filtered in, time to drag chassis off the slab, torment your glowering counterpart, dark and gold, prance gleefully out of reach of his inevitable swing before reporting in for whatever creative carnage was due for the day, cause said carnage, unwind, downcycle.

Do it all over again the next day, with interest. Rinse, repeat.

Except 

Except …

Except the rhythm was broken, the chain was snapped, and Sideswipe knew – he _knew_ \-- it would never be back again.

The way Sunstreaker would never be back again.

Slowly, painstakingly slowly, Sideswipe scraped the razor strigil across his trembling plating. Every last trace of crimson, he’d strip away. Delicately, carefully, every last movement as measured as one of those inane ceremonies barely half-remembered.

He needed to get this right before he splashed his savaged self black as night forever.

It needed to be perfect, as what was lost had been perfect …


	5. Shattered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> G1; Ricochet, Jazz; prompt "a scary place in space"

“Remind me why we’re here again?”

“Because if we don’t retrieve the calibration codes Prowl is going to lock us in a small hole forever?”

“Very funny. Reassuring, even. Got any better ones –“

Any further biting wit on Ricochet’s part was promptly swallowed by the wave of dread that all but picked him up and shook him like a trapped turbofox as soon as he’d lifted his gaze to the glass. Beside him, Jazz vented air in one long, pained exhalation of stunned disbelief.

Beyond the all-too-fragile enclosure of the shuttle lay an abattoir.

 _Something_ had torn the skirmish-ships – Autobot and Decepticon alike – to flinders, their contents and their crews scattered, shattered and lifeless; the dusting of random ribbons of broken planetoid, drifting idly through a suspended storm of twisted metal and frozen rose-scarlet droplets, was a final, surreal touch.

Jazz exhaled again, visor pale and lightless.

“If that’s where we gotta go …”

Gaze still locked on the grisly vista, Ricochet barely grated out the words.

“If that’s where we’re headed, it’s not codes we’re bringing back.  
“I see Bluestreak’s colours out there.”


	6. The Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IDW; Dai Atlas, Star Saber; prompt "skeletons"

All thought was banished in a burst of agony cold as fire, all response choked off in one single savage plunge towards his very core; and Dai Atlas could do nothing, say nothing, as his assailant prepared to end his life.

The memories, soft-edged and already fading, flickered one last time to the forefront of his mind as they always did:

_* the fallen, all those fallen, in the war to end all wars, blackened and stripped to nothing; never again *_

He felt – felt! – Star Saber’s clutching claws punch through the last resistant shreds of his frame:

_* Wing lying crumpled at the reaver’s feet, sacrificed to his own stubborn pride *_

His limbs began to fail him, great soul’s blade guttering, falling from insensate hands:

_* his followers – his kin – rendered to struts and then to slag before his eyes in numbers uncounted *_

… So many, there had been so very many.

He never heard Saber’s last vicious hiss as the dark closed in one final time; he was too grateful for being released from his memories at last.


	7. Cleansing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IDW; Prowl; prompt "lay my ghosts to rest"

It began slowly, a small thing that nonetheless burned incessantly (like rust, or a fracture in enamel); and so Prowl ignored it as he, with all the others, marched on leaden feet beyond the city walls. It was a selfish thought, after all, and after all that had happened (all that he had allowed to happen) ‘selfish’ was not an option.

Ignoring that small thought only fed it.

Watching, helpless, as the battered convoy picked their way through the wild-lands fed it further. Stubbornness turned it into a predator, stalking his dreams when he snatched moments to downcycle until it bid fair to eat him alive …

_… So be it._

With his expression an impassive mask (never let them see your pain), it had been simple to slip from the Constructicons (his tormentors, violators) the knowledge that even his prior physical configuration was unretrievable. (no going back, even physically)

Perfect memory, perfect recitation; designed with the first, hard-practiced the second. All that he knew, all the plans, all the webs; all were recorded, downloaded from crystal clear memory (why did no one see what they made me become), left for a reluctant leader in tarnished yellow.

One the slugs were scanned, Bee would know it all.

Every decision, however cold. Every sacrifice, however pained. All of it. Every last fork in the path of expediency, made for the purpose of sparing others the choice (take this weight from me); every rationalization, every gambit.

Ironhide questioned the recordings, canny old campaigner. He passed it off as strategic documentation. (not even a lie)

When night fell again, he strode eyes wide open into the wild and did not look back.


	8. Parting The Veil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> G1; Beachcomber; prompt ['monument'](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/BSJ5OaIIQAEXfOL.jpg)

There wasn’t much left, whatever it was. 

Two gnarled claws puncturing the barren alloy of Luna 2’s dead skin – whether sheared from some unknown goliath attempting to burrow beneath, or punching upwards from some chthonic labyrinth, none could decide.

Seated silent, statue-still, between the jagged remnants, Beachcomber was inclined towards the second of the two.

Stilled to near-oblivion, barely cycling, he could feel the whisper of the frozen goliath’s ghostly mind like a fluttering shade still clinging to some shred of shadowy existence – could almost see the shiver of spark-stuff still drifting in the moon’s whisper of air.

Just a little closer – just a little – and he could _touch_ –


	9. Retreat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IDW; Drift, Ratchet; prompt "a haunted mind"

_run run run don’t stop don’t look don’t_

_they were right at his heels shrieking gnashing  
clashing jaws claws to tend and tear_

_there was no escape_

_the light blinded the dark concealed them  
judgement in their teeth_

_run run forever_

_don’t stop don’t look back --_

-*-

Ratchet’s mouth tightened as he stared down at the pale frame clamped, for his own safety, against the sterile solidity of the medslab. 

Though he seemed motionless, Drift strained against the clamps – the monitors confirmed it – though he stared out at nothing, made no sound, acknowledged no one.

Where he was, what he saw; that, Ratchet had no answer for.


	10. Unraveling Skein

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> G1; Smokescreen; prompt "'Twilight Zone' by Golden Earring"

_how can it be ending when I can’t find the beginning_

_how can I see this through_

Cold, in the small grey room – a cell by any other name – that was his entire world now. Cold, and featureless, and sterile, save for having been lined with a score and more of flickering flashing screens, a hundred panels of burning code.

At the centre, pinpointed, spotlighted, Smokescreen huddled like a lost thing, doors pinioned like a dying moth, eyes blankly riveted towards the screens and what they held.

Caught; he was caught and trapped in his own web, stripped bare of every deception, every last gilded lie. And he could hear, could _hear_ the slow implacable tread of Magnus’ approach, the lighter pacing of Nightbeat’s gliding amble, as they came to winkle him from his shell …

Helpless, he was helpless.

_I did what I had to do_

_he forgave me in the end – they all forgave me_

_have mercy_

_I don’t have your strength_


	11. Frozen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreamwave; Prowl; prompt "mask"

For the briefest of times there had been hope.

But now – now, with alliances falling to a thousand thousand shards, after those dark days of factions and feudalism that savaged Cybertron’s remains to shreds – that hope was fleeting, was a lie.

A study in monochrome was Prowl, stark black on white, scored grey and scarred from the claws of unholy drones, from shrapnel and flame; and all he could see was the world falling to madness all around him.

Memory, unbidded: the azure of uncounted crystals chiming, shattered to dust and ashes. Art, harmony, pattern, lost forever, all of Praxus lost forever. The pain that bit and festered, a blade to the very core – biting deeper still as the very Prime chose to throw away all that they were –

And now, now this madness.

Despair chewed at the fragile suspension of his mind like acid, called him to the edge of that black abyss; it hurt so much, to lose so much …

Pain, even that pain, was luxury he could no longer afford to indulge.

Sharp as ice, cold as the void, Prowl locked the agony down deep and burned the bridges down behind him.

There was no more time for this.

 _’It’s what inside that counts‘_ –

– and what lay inside was broken and bleeding. 

They needed one who led, not one who shattered.

Let him bleed down deep inside where none could see.


	12. Swansong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> G1; Ricochet; prompt "memento mori"

Shattered field of fire and flame all around  
Turning gold to molten copper, stark black to rusting sable  
And all he could see was the small shattered body sprawled in his hands  
Like a discarded poppet splashed in rose and sticky crimson.

Ricochet's head swam with the agony of phantom pain – a broken bond, severed forever – and even as his systems fought in vain to stem the agony he felt the first wave of shivering weakness all but crush him to his knees.

A fool’s gambit  
Should never have permitted  
This fragile life bonded and bound to feed his own swiftly fading flame  
Where was the justice in that?

And now that fleeting life was nothing but flesh, inert; and already through the pain he knew that flame would soon gutter low and feeble, slip slowly away.

Behind the visor’s blank wedge his eyes blazed like hellfires; white rage coursed through him, a false, final strength, and he drew his neglected rifle to his hand.

He’d bring an honour guard of murderers to the Pit with them.


	13. White Lightning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> G1; Skyfire, Dirge, Skids; prompt "rage breaking point"

Their first mistake was grounding him.

Oh, he bled and suffered, wings shattered and splintered. But Skyfire was used to being ground-bound; it happened so often.

Their second mistake was assuming he was helpless.

Rather he gathered his strength, held still and quiet amongst the splintered trees he’d plowed through, and concentrated on watching Soundwave hold his petty court, clipped orders barked at Skywarp and Dirge.

Their final mistake was savaging Skids in his very face, howling with glee as the gentle theorist crumpled in an instant.

Skyfire charged like an onrushing avalanche, cold-burning implacability alight in his pale eyes.

The hapless Dirge was first, torn limb from limb by hands enough to engulf half his torso –


	14. Líbera me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shattered Glass, G1; Starscream; prompt "possession by a malignant force or personality"

_Get away from me –!_

It was back again, that cloying clawing _thing_ that he could feel, just _feel_ attempting to worm past his defenses, find a crack to poison its way into his very ember –

He’d tried to hide his distress as the days ticked by, tried to bury it under research and honest work even as he all but became a living ghost in ruby-trimmed white within their hidden stronghold. But Megatron was as observant as he was concerned; and in the end he’d reluctantly explained. 

The effort had brought sympathy, but no answers. And the thing returned, again and again.

_Whatever you may be –_

_: But I am you. :_

Cold, sibilant, calculating, cruel; but his voice, nonetheless, sliding into his mind like an oil slick.

Shuddering, Starscream wobbled to a halt, leaned heavily against the war-room’s broad table, drew air into his intakes … Glanced upward, wearily, and saw reflected in the great monitor’s dead glass his own haggard frame – and a spectre of death-grey and rusted crimson, eyes two carbuncles of cunning avarice.

Storm blue forearms draped weightless around his snow-pale neck as he stood frozen; then one phantom hand lifted, pressed against his head, traced the ridge of one pale cheek.

The voice purred.

_: And now I have you. :_


	15. Stained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> G1; Springer; prompt "alone at last"

The final thin-voiced wail faded and died, unseen and unlamented; and with the last tortured note fallen silent, Springer allowed himself one single agonizing cry as he crumpled against the rough and unforgiving wall. 

Who would have thought it would have come to this?  
But here he was, surrounded by the dead – dead by his own hands – and whimpering with broken guilt into the silence.

There was no one left but him.

His cellmates -- noncombatants, all – were dragged away one by one to scream unseen beyond the rough-hewn cell, or left battered and dying by inches at the hands of their mad jailer. Glimpses of the damned cyclops and his nightmare horde every time the door dragged open were maddening; seeing that same horde’s number increase slowly but surely all the moreso.

They had begged him to kill them. Even chipped and drugged and tethered like an animal, he was more than strong enough to quickly crush the life from one not bred and remade for warfare …

First he had refused.

Then he refused to hear their cries.

Then – in the end, desperate to end their terror and their pain – he struck, swiftly and without warning.

But it was over now. He was the last.

Last, and damned forever.


End file.
